Puss, accustomed to life as an only cat in a small SF apartment, entered a brave new world with a dog and two other cats. The menagerie frightened her, and she showed her fear (and anger and confusion) with hisses and sharp claws. Betty, my shadow dog, felt the wrath whenever she was within eyesight.
Puss seemed content with her life in solitary confinement in the bathroom that straddles two upstairs bedrooms. She only cried out when it was time for her Fancy Feast fix.
After one week, I opened the door to the bathroom to give her access to her own bedroom suite. Puss liked having a room to call her own. She enjoyed my frequent visits but had no desire to join Betty and me in our bedroom. If I dragged her in, she would immediately scurry back to her safe place.
Betty, the biggest threat
Two weeks ago, I decided to expand her world again. I opened both bathroom doors (it's a Jack-and-Jill arrangement) so that Puss had access to our bedroom and the rest of the house. The result surprised me. It was as though Puss had become institutionalized. She was free to come and go as she pleased , but she had no desire to leave her suite. When I carried, her out, she couldn't wait to jump out of my arms and back to her own safe, dog-free space.
Yesterday, Puss decided to take a risk. She ventured out of her safe haven.
Puss decides to cross the line, but pauses to think it over.
"This may not be such a good idea after all."
The reward, basking in sunshine on mom's lap, was worth the risk.
"Can I watch the Aristocats one more time?"
"This may not be such a good idea after all."
The reward, basking in sunshine on mom's lap, was worth the risk.
"Can I watch the Aristocats one more time?"
Now Puss (or Sour Puss, as I like to call her) is free to roam about the entire house. She's exploring every nook and cranny from the basement to the bedroom, where she now sleeps by my pillow. She still hisses at the other animals, but, if cats could talk, I think she'd say the rewards of freedom and extra attention far outweigh the risks and fears. (Or maybe she'd just say, "Back off, Milk Bone breath.")
For the first seven months after I completed my auto stem cell transplant, I became a fearless, pole dancing risk taker. When you ask yourself, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" and the answer is not "death," fear of new challenges starts to evaporate.
With two recent events, the sickness that laid me out for nearly three months and the economic crisis, I've become a little risk adverse. It was even tempting to fall into a pathetic "I think I'll just stay home. People might be mean to me if I go out" thinking at times.
I think my risk pendulum swung a little too far in one direction and then, just as quickly, veered off into the other direction. Now, like Puss and our economy, I just have to find the right balance.
(Check out the latest at Open Mouth, Insert Fork, Sunday Italian Brunch, the Lazy Woman's Way)
For the first seven months after I completed my auto stem cell transplant, I became a fearless, pole dancing risk taker. When you ask yourself, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" and the answer is not "death," fear of new challenges starts to evaporate.
With two recent events, the sickness that laid me out for nearly three months and the economic crisis, I've become a little risk adverse. It was even tempting to fall into a pathetic "I think I'll just stay home. People might be mean to me if I go out" thinking at times.
I think my risk pendulum swung a little too far in one direction and then, just as quickly, veered off into the other direction. Now, like Puss and our economy, I just have to find the right balance.
(Check out the latest at Open Mouth, Insert Fork, Sunday Italian Brunch, the Lazy Woman's Way)
No comments:
Post a Comment